


Sometimes the Losers Aren’t the Obvious Choice

by ForeverEvan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Death, Godric's Hollow, Mild Gore, Not Canon Compliant, Rise of Voldemort, Second War with Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 05:22:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14709911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForeverEvan/pseuds/ForeverEvan
Summary: Greg Goyle has never recovered from the Second Wizarding War. He watched his best friend die, and then watched Voldemort become victorious. The world can continue to spin, but sometimes the winners make the biggest losers.





	Sometimes the Losers Aren’t the Obvious Choice

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [TheSlytherinCabal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSlytherinCabal/pseuds/TheSlytherinCabal) in the [DBQ2018Round2](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DBQ2018Round2) collection. 



> Dear Reader, if you wish for a happy story, I beg of you - turn back now. 
> 
> This piece was conceived and penned for the Death by Quill Challenge, Round Two. In this world owned entirely by our mistress J.K. Rowling (who ever so graciously allows us to explore and imagine), a tale has been put to the wordsmith to explain what could have happened to Hermione Granger if she had watched Harry Potter die in the Second Battle of Hogwarts.
> 
> Spoiler Alert: It’s not fluffy bunnies and magical unicorns.
> 
> If you thought that anything with Death in the title could leave you feeling warm and squishy inside, this isn’t it.
> 
> Should you feel the need to carry on, please understand that the author of this completely free to you FanFiction piece has put this paragraph here to absolve him/her of all obligations of sending chocolate and paying for therapy. And if you haven’t read the books, stop reading this story and get to it, or canon deaths may make it worse.
> 
> As always, thank you to my fantastic (and for the purposes of the challenge - anonymous) Beta. I would not be able to do this without you.
> 
> Thank you,  
> -Me, Said Author
> 
> (PS - I am also fresh out of tissues and stress balls, so suck it up buttercups!)

People used to believe in kindness, and that good will overcome evil. But that was before all of Europe’s Wizarding Kind saw Voldemort’s wand flash green, the acid colored smoky power overcome that of The Boy Who Lived, and Harry Potter’s body thudded to the ground.

And unfortunately for those who thought that the bad guys would never win, not for the final time would they watch Potter’s symbolic fall, ending all the hope they clung to in their own feeble grasp. Greg had watched his own father carry his classmate up to the astronomy tower and send it off again Dumbledore-style. Unlike Dumbledore, Harry’s skull and many other bones crushed on impact. Blood splattered in all directions, and the joyous howls of the Death Eaters reveling in the energy echoed as they trashed the Hogwarts Castle.

Greg had just heard the screams of his best friend as his flesh was engulfed in flames, smelled the charred skin, and thought he may have even heard the sizzle of fat as Vincent’s body became just one of thousands of casualties across the castle. He’d been stunned into submission for the next year as he was made out to be one of the War Heroes, and paraded around with Draco and the other students that had come of age in a world they did not bargain to grow up in.

If underachievement would have been something to compete in, Gregory Goyle’s sad shell of a person would have taken the prize. Living on Draco’s sofa, it was all he could do to drag himself out of bed for meetings with their Magical Law Enforcement Task Force team under the new regime, where everyone said Voldemort and no one uttered the name of the boy who died. After the meetings, he took patrol. Draco used to join him, but the playboy seemed more interested in spending time with Pansy than keeping Headquarters quiet. Not that there was much excitement happening, what with the Death Eater numbers at an all time high.

The few who remained loyal to the boy who died were in hiding now. Gone, like a relic of unquantifiable value found only in those who had once cherished it, only to have it tossed aside by the newer generations. Potter and his freakish company would be nothing but a bitter memory, and those who dared defy him and bring anything but peace into his world before he died were now remembered for it. As if these deeds redeemed a soul.

Sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace at what was once Potter Cottage at Godric’s Hollow, Greg sulked. Draco had begged him to cover half of his shift, and despite all of his own reservations based on the desire to do nothing but sleep, Gregory agreed with a solidly begrudging tone worthy of one being asked to tie the noose in their own gallow the day of an execution. Headquarters, as Voldy put it, was pretty much only sharing the land with where the remains of Potter Cottage once rested. Now, a building sat large enough to encompass the city square. Muggle presence was diverted away, and this place - once a sacred place for remembering - was now Magic Headquarters for this part of the world.

This place was supposed to be quiet, and it was except for the nagging feeling at the pit of his stomach. Mistaking it for gas, Gregory stood and began the ascent for the third floor where his closet of an office was. Rounding the staircase, his thumping steps stopped when he spied a light under the main office door. Gregory’s eyes narrowed, and he slowed his stride at the sobering reality of not finding the solitude he had bargained for tonight.

Greg reached the door, and slid the handle back till the heavy wooden panel begun to swing into the room. In the milliseconds that followed, the light illuminated a filthy, slim female figure with bushy hair sifting through the Dark Lord’s desk. Granger? Before his thoughts could advance further, the old wooden door and the metal hinges let out an audible groan, and the figure in front of him turned, eyes wild - cornered like a cat.

“Goyle?” Granger hissed.

Gregory narrowed his eyes and scrunched up his nose, as if the smell drifting underneath was the most foul of odors known to man. “Granger. You forget to shower? For … about a month?”

Granger’s mouth fell open, and she left it there for a moment too long before realizing, and snapping it shut. He used the silence to eye what was going on and who exactly he was looking at. She was standing there, dressed in tattered jeans and an oversized sweater that looked suspiciously like the horror show that the Weasley mum sent out to her brats every Christmas. But it was far too worn to attempt to identify which grubby initial was on it. The darn thing was nothing more than a trophy for someone who had died. Ron, maybe the twins. It didn’t matter to Greg. All Weasleys and their Mudblood princess may as well have been enemy number two right after the boy who died.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Gregory said, holding her eye contact as he stepped inside Voldemort’s office and closed the door behind him. “The boogeyman will get you, Granger.”

“Not likely, if that means you. I’ve been watching your rapid fall to self loathing and misery,” Hermione shot back.

Gregory laughed. “Really? Should I call up a house-elf and let you cry as I kick it out the window? Or have you finally moved on to value the human life you so easily throw away?”

Hermione seemed generally surprised for a moment, but then her lips pulled into a snare. “Stop crying for your boyfriend, Goyle. It’s unbecoming.”

“Right. I will save that for the lady in the room.”

Both jerked in reach for their wands. Flashes of light as unspoken curses flew. Hermione attempted a disarming charm, but it was blocked without even thinking - of course she would attack first, and a shield spell made sense. What Gregory hadn’t counted on though was her quick reaction.

" _Confundo …_ ” Hermione hissed.

Immediately, Gregory’s mind went blank. The background of the office never seemed to matter. What he did know was that he was standing in an office with Hermione pointing a wand at him, waiting for something.

“Granger? Where are your robes?” Greg asked, furrowing his eyebrows. His eyes looked around, seeing his own hand holding a wand pointed right at her. “What’s going on?”

“You were about to take me out of this place and forget you ever saw me,” she said, tilting her head to one side. Gregory thought about it, feeling like he was missing something vital.

Finally, he shook his head no. " _Confundo_!” Hermione shouted again with arguably more conviction the second go round, but this time, he ducked. Hermione swore under her breath, bolting forward to take aim again as Greg picked up a book and chucked it at her. “Damn you to hell, stay still!” she ordered.

“Fuck you, Granger,” Gregory yelled back, throwing another book. He was thoroughly lost at why they were throwing books, and why he felt so angry at her. It must have had to do with the wands. “You have always been the worst. You should just DIE already!”

“You should guard your words!” Hermione threw another curse at him, and Greg ducked. “You are so thick in the head, this stupid curse won’t work! It will hurt less if you stay still!”

“Like when Vincent died?” Gregory screamed, throwing a quick three series of curses at Hermione. She had to stop dueling and duck behind the desk now, and he could see the sheen of sweat from the effort of this fight, and it somehow surprised him. In combination with her appearance and not being familiar with where he was, it was hard to focus.

But then, Greg considered his words. Vincent … his best friend. Dead. It hit like a brick in the chest again, and although he could not remember the death - likely because of whatever charms and curses the Mudblood was slinging like the vile spawn she was. A few tears were slipping down his cheeks.

“Why are you even here?!” he demanded, watching her clutching her pocket with her free hand.

Granger laughed. “Potion supplies, you idiot. I guess telling you makes no difference. You aren’t leaving here with your mind in tact.” She shot out another spell. He blocked, and threw a counter curse in two successive orders. The second hit Hermione’s hand, and her wand flew out of her grasp. She had to dive after that while Greg found his footing.

“Not if I kill you for what you did.”

“You will never get it, will you?” came her strained voice from where she hid behind a cabinet. “Like a fool, you fixate on the death of one person you kind of liked, maybe. You ignore the hundreds of suffering souls who are literally dying because Lord Voldemort thrives on our pain. Our misery.”

“The Potter line is best scrubbed from the face of this earth,” Greg said, surprised at his own angry emotions. Potter? Who is that, then … He shook his head, clearing the murky thoughts. “You kill just as often as anyone else. But you seem to think you are above us, Granger.”

“I don’t throw children from astronomy towers!”

At that, Hermione jumped from her hiding place, wand pointed at Gregory as his was aimed at her.

" _Confundo_!” Hermione shouted.

" _Avada Kedavera_!” Gregory screamed, at the exact same time.

The room faded out in a flash of green and blue static.

***

In the wee hours of the morning, Draco found his unconscious friend and the body of Hermione Granger on the floor of Voldemort’s office in the Godric Hollow branch. The office was trashed. Gregory was transferred to St. Mungos immediately on the Dark Lord’s orders, but his mind never recovered.

“And that, Scorpius, is how I envision the great Hermione Granger dying,” Draco explained, telling what he had seen and what could explain the mess he walked into.

“Why was she bad, Daddy?” The little boy’s large eyes were wide in wonder, soaking up his father’s voice as he recounted the tale.

“Because some witches are,” Draco brushed off. “When people think they are right, they do terrible things,” Draco answered simply.

Pansy cleared her throat, breaking the concentration from the scene in front of her. “Draco, Scorpius was supposed to be sleeping ages ago.”

Draco winked at his wife, eyeing her swelling belly carrying their second child. “Very well. I will be along in a moment.”

She nodded, moving back toward the kitchen. Draco waited until she was just out of earshot, and turned his gaze back to his son. “No one can ever know,” he whispered, tucking his child in and kissing his head. “Sleep soundly, or you may discover the boogeyman comes when you do not expect it,” he warned.

“Yes, Daddy,” the child replied sleepily, letting his eyes close. Draco dimmed the lights, and made his exit, leaving his son to dream of war and how even after so much time passes, there will always be the boogeyman to conquer.


End file.
